Chapter One: Quinn

END GAME

Book Two in the Dawson Family Series

Copyright 2018

Emily Goodwin

Chapter One

Quinn

I don’t know what hurts worse: my wrist or my stomach. The pain there is more concerning, and my wrist could be broken in two and my mind would still be on my baby. I know it takes a lot to hurt a baby this early in the pregnancy, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying. I flatten my hand over my stomach, looking at the spot where the guy was just standing. I’m shocked, scared, and unable to figure out why he looked so familiar.

Sam takes off after the guy, and I stand there, rooted to the spot for a moment before I shake myself and get my phone from the floor. The screen has blacked out, and I hold it up, unlocking it with facial recognition, and call 911.

“911. What is the location of your emergency?” the dispatcher asks.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” I breathe, heart still racing. Am I imagining it, or is the pain in my stomach turning into dull cramps? “I’m at my boyfriend’s house,” I rush out, realizing that’s not helping my case. “And I don’t know his address. I’m visiting from out of town. Sorry.”

“It’s all right, we can attempt to track your location. What is your emergency?”

“Some guy was pounding on the door and then burst in,” I say and pull the phone away from my ear, putting it on speaker, and go to Maps so I can see where I am. “He hit me with the door and I think he’s on drugs.”

“Is he there with you now?”

“No. He left.” I drop a pin at my location and give the dispatcher the address.

“Keep your door locked. An officer is on his way.”

“Thank you.”

I hang up, still shaken, and completely ignore the dispatcher’s advice. Sam is out there, and I need to make sure he’s okay. Almost tripping over the entry rug again, I step over it and into the hall. Sam rounds the corner, jogging back toward me. He’s not black and blue or bleeding at least.

“Fucker ran out into the street. I lost him.”

Nodding, I step back inside and lock the door as soon as Sam is inside. “I called the cops. Someone will be here soon.”

“Good. Are you okay?” He plows a hand through his blonde hair.

I bring my hands to my stomach and look down. Getting hit with the knob hurt, and the base of the door also whacked my feet. I just didn’t realize it until now when I see a broken and bleeding toenail. My left wrist aches something terrible, and it’s a little hard to move.

“I’m not sure.”

“How far along are you?”

“Eight weeks.”

Sam lets out a sigh of relief. “Your uterus is still low in your pelvis. You should be okay. But your wrist…” He gently takes my arm and I wince. “It’s starting to swell.”

“It hurts. I have carpal tunnel in that one.”

“It wouldn’t make it suddenly swell like this. Can you move your fingers?”

I carefully bend all five fingers in toward my palm.

“What about move your wrist?”

“Oww,” I say when I try to bend my wrist up.

“It’s either a sprain of a fracture.”

“Great,” I mumble.

“Sit and try to relax. I’ll get you ice.”

Moving to the couch, I bring my right hand to the spot where the doorknob hit. It’s right below my belly button, and even though I know the baby is nestled deep inside my uterus, it’s hard to imagine it not being right there, feeling the shock wave of getting hit so hard I fell over.

“Are you okay in there?” I whisper, tears filling my eyes. This baby wasn’t planned. Archer and I weren’t even dating at the time of conception. Knowing I’m having a baby has turned my life upside down. But not having this baby would catapult my life into darkness.

Sam comes back into the living room carrying an ice pack.

“Archer got called in for surgery,” I say as he sits on the couch next to me.

“I know. He called on his way to make sure I’d look out for you. I’m doing a bang-up job.”

“It’s not your fault. Do you have any idea who that was?”

“Not at all.” Sam puts pillows under my arm, elevating my wrist and then carefully arranging the ice pack. “If the swelling gets worse, you should go in for an X-ray. Sometimes scaphoid fractures can be confused for sprains.”

My right hand is still on my stomach. “I can’t get an X-ray.”

“You’ll be well protected, and it’s just your wrist. Not your abdomen.”

I’m still being exposed to unnecessary radiation, which makes me feel guilty even though I didn’t do anything wrong. I fell. More than just fell, actually. I got knocked over.

“The guy knew Archer.”

“Maybe he was an old patient or something?” Sam gets up and goes to the window, looking down at the street that runs along the building.

“Are there cameras on the traffic lights?” I ask, moving the ice pack a bit. It’s getting cold already.

“I’m not sure.”

“If there are, I can hack in and see if I can find anything.”

Sam turns, eyebrow raised. “Hack in? You can do that?”

“I can. But I won’t.” I sigh. “I just need something to do to calm my nerves.”

“And hacking into the city’s traffic cams will calm your nerves?”

“Most definitely,” I say and then laugh. Sam laughs too, shaking his head. “Archer said you are good with computers.”

“It’s my thing.”

Sam goes to the door and looks through the peephole before moving back to the couch. “Have you really hacked into things?”

“Nothing that could get me arrested. Well, I did once, but I was helping the police catch a guy who’d racked up thousands on stolen credit cards. My brother is a cop in a small town,” I explain. “Their tech department isn’t the best.”

“That’s pretty damn cool.” He turns away from the door and comes back to the couch. He’s on edge, and not being able to catch and beat up this Bobby guy is bothering him.

“Should I try calling Archer?”

Sam checks the time. “He’s still in the OR. I’ll call the hospital and have him notified as soon as he’s out.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

A minute later, the cops arrive, and we give our statements. As much as I try to root for the law, the two officers who showed up don’t seem too concerned. They don’t seem to really care at all, actually. The guy just opened the door hard. He didn’t break and enter. He didn’t actually touch me. They say they’ll keep an eye out, and leave.

Locking the door after them, I debate on calling Weston and asking for advice on the subject. The guy creeped me out because of the way he looked at me, and the way he saw me in this shirt and knew it had something to do with Archer. I guess that’s not technically illegal, but I still feel like something more should be done.

Walking back to the couch, I bend over to pick my phone up from the coffee table. A sharp, stabbing pain hits me right in the stomach, and I freeze, waiting for it to go away.

But it doesn’t, and the sharp pain turns into a deep cramp.